The Final Wars
by zZzSapphireBluezZz
Summary: Life isn't a fairytale; the heroes doesn't always win. When you're at your highest peak, when you think you have won, you will take one more step and fall, because there is nothing but air beneath you. When you reach for a hand to pull you back up you realize there never was anyone there; you were… [Full summary inside. Rated T to be safe but it most likely is K ]


Life isn't a fairytale; the heroes doesn't always win. When you're at your highest peak, when you think you have won, you will take one more step and fall, because there is nothing but air beneath you. When you reach for a hand to pull you back up you realize there never was anyone there; you were always alone. You will see a light thinking maybe, maybe there is someone out there, but the light is fading away. It never was there because life isn't a fairytale; the villain isn't always defeated. The hero doesn't always win.

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**Note: Thank you to The Script Machine for Beta testing this. This is my first story on fan fiction and I would really appreciate constructive criticism. :)**

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**Disclaimer: I do not own the Percy Jackson books but the original characters are mine. **

**Prolog**

_Tap, tap, tap, tap,_ went the footsteps on the cold, dark wood floor. They echoed across the walls lined with books, worn and well read, intricate carvings along all of the shelves. The ceiling was low and dark; faint lanterns hung from above, seemingly unsuspended. The dark figure moved along the hallway, the shadows bending to his will. He was cloaked in darkness, his eyes forever changing, full of unimaginable depth. They were full of sorrow and pain; of loss and suffering. A black trench coat hung down to his knees, his leather boots simple and sleek. His skin was so pale it was as if he has never gone outside in his life. His hair as dark as the midnight sky with a scruffy cut. Without looking into his eyes you would think he was only fourteen year of age, but he had seen so much more.

The boy walked up to a bookshelf in the seemingly endless hallway and slowly pulled back on one volume. Grinding of gears could be heard echoing off the walls. A panel slid open leading into a secret room quite like the hallway. A large balcony was at the other side of the room, on the ground was a dark purple carpet with a pattern of flowers. A white leather couch was in the center of the room facing the window. On the couch was a girl; a girl dressed in blue.

She had dark brown hair with a light streak on the right. A cloak was settled on her shoulders, the hood drawn. Her shirt was full of so many shades of blue and grey you could never truly tell what color it was. The bottom of the shirt fell on top of dark grey cotton pants. Her eyes were like crystals, but the light made it impossible to tell what color they were.

"So," The girl whispered, barely audible to the ear. "You've finally found out." The boy moved closer stopping at the edge of the couch seemingly trying to decide if he should continue. He moved forward having made his decision. With each step his demeanor grew sadder until finally he sank onto the couch beside her. The girl turned her head and looked at the boy. The silence stretched on feeling like an eternity when in reality it was only minutes.

The boy leaned forward and slowly pulled the girl's hood down, growing sadder still. The girl's eyes fluttered closed, knowing what was to come. His hand stayed on her cheek, as if he didn't want to let go, as if he didn't want to do what must be done.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear. His voice filled with anguish. His right hand slipped around her back toward her heart, a dagger clutched tightly. She leaned her head onto his shoulder.

"Are you really ready to live with this?" She said, her voice level.

"If I don't do it now I never will, and you of all people know that," He said in a mocking, coy way that really hid his utter sadness. It didn't hide it very well this time. She didn't respond, she already knew what was to come.

He plunged the dagger into her back, her own heart cutting itself to ribbons. A single tear escaped from his eyes as she crumbled into his arms. He shoved her away, his breathing hard and fast. He had killed before many times but never like this, never like her. Onto the floor he slipped, onto the floor of the room of his nightmares. The room he had dreamed about for so long. The room he would forever dream about, forever remembering what he had done.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, his head towards his knees. His eyes stared at nothing; they had stopped swirling. One was sapphire, one was violet. A mark of who he had met and seen. He had done it; the Known War and the Hidden War were finally over. Then, he cried.


End file.
